


Healing

by Asgardian_Centaur



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asgardian_Centaur/pseuds/Asgardian_Centaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPOILERS for the series finale, Victory.</p><p>Agron and Nasir begin the healing process after the final battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> Agron's POV after the events of Victory. This is unbeta'd so I hope it came out alright. This was supposed to be really short but the story kinda kept going...
> 
> Works inspired by this one:
> 
> The lovely ClauFeltonBlack translated this fic into Spanish :) http://archiveofourown.org/works/805675

They stopped for the night shortly after Agron had placed his shield over Spartacus' grave. The women and children were tired and hungry, and Agron couldn't deny that he was as well. But they had to keep going, had to make sure they were far enough away from Rome’s armies.

 Once a safe place was found, Laeta and Sybil left and returned with water, which Nasir set down in front of him and ordered him to sit.

 "Nasir." It was a halfhearted attempt at protest, even as he sank down into the dirt.

 Nasir knelt beside him and dipped a rag into the water. Agron opened his mouth to protest further, but the look that Nasir gave him stilled his tongue.

Too tired and sore to argue Agron held out his hands and let Nasir unwrap the bandages. His touch was gentle as he cleaned dried blood (his and Roman) and grime, and he placed a soft kiss on each newly bandaged palm when he was done.

 "I will not let the gods take you from my arms again."

* * *

Despite his fears, Agron still had some feeling in his hands. His little and ring fingers still had almost a full range of motion and sense of touch. It was these two fingers he would trail along Nasir's arm as they lay together. Or that he would gently place on Nasir's cheek just to feel the stubble scrape against his skin.

Or that Nasir would kiss when a dark mood settled over him late at night, to chase away ghosts that lingered.

* * *

The nightmares came next, creeping in like the tide. Agron has not dreamed like this since his brother died, but now it is all he dreams. Of Spartacus and Gannicus and Crixus, of Varro and Mira and Oenomaus and Lugo and Saxa and Naevia and everyone they had lost in this war. Of blood and battle and sands of the arena. Of nails piercing his flesh and the weight of his body as he struggled to hold himself up. And of Duro.

One night, he dreamed it was Nasir they nailed to the cross, facing him so that they would be forced to watch each other suffer. Agron thrashed and screamed, his flesh tearing as he fought to free himself, to save Nasir, who struggled and cried for him.

He woke to Nasir stroking his hair and murmuring soothing words against his forehead. Agron threw his arms around Nasir and held him as close as he could, his wounds be damned.

“You were thrashing,” Nasir whispered, planting a tender kiss beside his ear. “And screaming so loud some of the others woke.” Agron could only whimper and hold Nasir tighter, his whole body still trembling. “I’m here, Agron. It was only a dream. One that will disappear with morning’s light.”

Sleep did not come easily that night, nor for several other nights after. Agron feared to close his eyes, and despite Nasir’s pleas would force himself to stay awake until his eyes felt heavy and sleep overwhelmed him.

He soon noticed that Nasir would curl around him while he slept, clinging tightly, his brow furrowed in pain, and Agron knew he wasn’t the only one who had nightmares. Nasir woke one night and, not realizing he was awake, buried his face in Agron’s chest with a muffled sob.

As Agron stroked his hair, now his turn to offer Nasir words of comfort, he decided that morning light couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

It wasn’t just his ability to grip a sword that the Romans had taken from him. Even simple tasks, such as grasping a spoon or stick with roasted meat was more difficult now, and Agron realized how much he took his hands for granted. He felt an invalid, unable to care for himself at times. And there were some nights he went to bed with growling stomach rather than accept help or make a fool of himself.

Nasir, though, never coddled him, never offered to feed him, and for that Agron was grateful. Instead, he used the same cleverness that had forged his shield to wrap excess padding around the ends of a spoon. Scraps of cloth and leather wrapped around broken twigs made the handle thicker and easier to hold.

“Strength will return to your hands.” Nasir’s smile, warm and confident, was enough to make Agron start to believe it as well.

* * *

The group they had started with was slowly dwindling as they traveled further from the mountains. Now that they were free, some wanted to return to their homeland, others wanted to strike out on their own and form a new life. Plenty remained with them still, simply because they didn’t know where else to go. Now that they were just out of the shadow of Rome, they could stop and rest for longer periods of time. One night they sat around the fire and allowed themselves to talk about Spartacus and their friends.

It wasnt Nasir that brought up Castus, but Laeta, who told a story about how the pirate, while he was excellent at gathering firewood, had been absolutely terrible at lighting a fire. Agron had his arms wrapped around Nasir and felt him tense.

"He will be missed," he said, more for Nasir to hear than anyone else. 

Nasir turned in his arms to look up at him. No words were spoken and none needed to be. Agron had already decided he would not carry his anger and jealousy into their new life. His arms wrapped tighter around Nasir and kissed his forehead. Nasir leaned his head back against his shoulder, fingers curled lightly around Agron’s wrist, and told a story about Castus that actually made him laugh along with the others.

Later that night, as they lay under their furs, Nasir nuzzled closer to him, and buried his face in Agron’s neck. “Gratitude,” he whispered.

* * *

They continued onward for weeks, determined to make it east of the Rhine. When the worst of the mountain pass was behind them, they stopped to rest for a few days at an inn, and to celebrate having come this far.

For Agron and Nasir, this was more than a simple respite. Agron discovered that he had regained some feeling in the tips of his fingers. He still couldn't grip very well, but this was a small miracle and they were going to celebrate it.

Hours passed with Agron doing little more that trailing his fingers along Nasir's skin, through his hair, relishing things he never thought he'd feel again. 

"Did I not tell you feeling would return to your hands?" Nasir asked, grinning as he laced their fingers together. Agron gave a small gasp when he could feel the kiss Nasir placed on his fingers.

"Only because of you."

Even long after their love making (and vowing never to go that long without again), Nasir kept brushing his fingertips in soft circles on Agron’s fingertips because he loved the way Agron couldn’t stop smiling when he did.

* * *

Some mornings, before Agron was fully awake and still content with Nasir curled against his side, he'd imagine he could hear Spartacus outside, yelling that they had over slept. Or Crixus. Sometimes it was hard to tell. It wasn’t until he was fully awake or out with the others he realized the empty places in their group.

"Sometimes when I look at Sybil I keep waiting for Gannicus to sweep her up and kiss her," Nasir told him one morning after he voiced his thoughts. His fingertips played and teased against Agron's, something he would never grow tired of. "And I keep expecting to see Naevia and Crixus. The other day I thought I saw Spartacus with the others. It’s strange to think them gone from this world."

Their friends’ deaths had left voids not easily filled. It was like seeing ghosts, and Agron wondered how long they would see them. Yet it was because of them they were able to live their lives as free men, that he was able to have a life with Nasir. He kissed Nasir’s shoulder and murmured, "Gone...but never forgotten."

* * *

Their numbers dwindled more as they pushed forward toward the Rhine. Some were lost to death. Most however set off to find their own way back to their homelands, or they just settled once they found someplace they liked. Their group was more or less a large family now. Laeta and Sybil still remained with them, as did a small group of others, including a couple of orphaned children. 

"You're certain you want to go to my homeland?" he asked Nasir one night, when the fear of returning to a land he’d not been to in years gripped him. "You wouldn't rather us return to Syria?"

"I was so young when I was taken from there it would be just as foreign to me." He kissed Agron's chest. "And I would rather see this land you speak of so fondly."

A few short days later, the forests and hills began to take on a more familiar shape, one from the farthest depths of Agron’s memory. Even the scent of the air was familiar, and Agron gently took Nasir's hand.

"We're home.”

Some months and a newly acquired goat farm later, he and Nasir settled into a life of relative peace. If one could call chasing after wayward goats and three small children day in and day out peaceful. The babe Kore and Laeta helped deliver was walking now, and Agron would often catch him as he darted away from his mother.

“This one will be a fierce warrior one day,” Nasir laughed, taking the wiggling child from Agron’s arms and handing him off to his mother. Grateful, Agron sank onto a nearby bench and pulled Nasir down with him, his arm curling around his shoulders.

“If the gods are good, he won’t have to be.”

Nasir laughed and kissed him. “He will have the choice, if he so desires. And he will have the best teacher.”

Agron doubted that, unless another miracle happened and he was able to grip sword again. Nor could he imagine choosing a warrior’s life again, now that he had this one with Nasir. A quiet life, one where they could choose to lay in bed all morning if they wanted, or build a different farm, or whatever they decided on. This was what they had fought and sacrificed for.

He had just pulled Nasir into his lap, kissing him deeply, when Sybil came running up to them. Perhaps not so quiet after all. “Agron! Nasir! Some of the goats got out.”

“You didn’t shut the gate all the way, did you?” Nasir asked, sliding off his lap.

“Fucking goats. They keep ramming it to get out.”

Well, he hadn’t exactly fought for goats that found the most inopportune times to break free, but Agron wouldn’t trade this life for anything. Even as he and Nasir collapsed into bed at night, exhausted but alive and together.

 

                                                                                                 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if how I described Agron regaining a little feeling is 100% accurate. I'd heard/read different things so I went with what I thought was a middle of the road approach. Same with Nasir modifying Agron's utensils...kind of winged that one a bit, but I thought if he had a hard time holding a sword, there must be other things he has difficulty using.


End file.
